


More Happy Than Not

by Loversarelosers



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Exhaustion, Love, M/M, implied/referenced eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 01:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18955510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loversarelosers/pseuds/Loversarelosers
Summary: It weighs in his bones, weighs him down and drowns him.Harrison’s eyes twinkle and glimmer.Or, the one where Tom is exhausted.





	More Happy Than Not

**Author's Note:**

> Some of my first RPF work. Hopefully they never find this, but it is all fiction. As in, not real in any other realm than this story. Thx.

They steal a kiss, soft and gentle, in the back alley of the bar. 

The streetlight is dim, and there’s no one around. Harrison pulls him out of the bar for a minute with the premise of asking him something away from the noise. He rests his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, suddenly exhausted. Haz is wearing a fancy suit, no tie, shirt unbuttoned, blue silk smooth. His own leather jacket is back at the bar somewhere and he’s kind of freezing, not that he’ll say anything. 

Harrison wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. He breathes in, just for a moment, the subtle scent of Haz’s cologne and the smell of fresh linen. 

God, it’s been a long day. Interviews, the premier, the movie, the first after-party, the second after-party...and then the rest of the cast dragged him out for a drink. It’s been a pretty long week, actually. He flew in from a photoshoot in London on Monday, then filmed for three days straight in Atlanta for Chaos Walking, then flew right over to LA yesterday, where he had been rushed through a slew of interviews and photoshoots, each more tiring than the next. But the week before had been the same. It had been a long month...a long year, really.

The only constant during the chaos was Harrison. Comforting and calm, even when he himself was busy, Haz somehow hadn’t gotten tired of him yet. It had been such a year, and while he wouldn’t have given it up for the world, it was exhausting. Not just the filming and press, but the constant facade he had to put on. Even when he was exhausted or sick or upset, he had to always be fine. There was always a camera around, always someone to gossip about how he was supposedly rude or grumpy. 

But now, there was another aspect of himself he never had intended to hide. Harrison. Harrison and him. As a thing, together. Dating. He had never said that he was straight, but ever since he was young, he knew what coming out meant for an actor. He didn’t want that, didn’t want that for Harrison and him either. He saw the stories, saw the pictures, knew that going public with any relationship, especially gay, would garner a lot of attention. He didn’t need any more attention. 

But still, it would be nice, he thinks. To be able to breathe a little better, to not hide from the things he thinks people will say. To stop being in a rumored relationship with Zendaya, to stop being asked annoying questions that straight guys shouldn’t be asked in the first place. It would be nice to be able to hold Harrison’s hand in public- to not make Haz feel like shit when he would pull away from a kiss. It would be...it would be nice.

He sighs against his boyfriend’s chest, the schedule of the last few days taking their toll. Even though this is his third party of the night, he’s hardly even tipsy. Harrison cards a hand through his hair, and Tom can feel his soft exhale. He pulls away from his boyfriend’s chest to smile at him. God, they’re really here. 

His boyfriend's eyes, bright and twinkling, catch the light. Harrison has a gentle smile on his face, an expression that could only be described as fond. Harrison just...likes him. Harrison, actual live Harrison, likes him for himself, doesn’t need anyone else. 

“I’m really proud of you.”

Harrison poses the statement into the cool air, and Tom can feel his throat tighten a little. They really made it. Actually, truly, made it. He leans closer to his boyfriend in the cool night air. There’s no one around. Haz’s lips meet his, gentle and smooth, easy and simple. There’s no rush, no rushing to get undressed. When they come back up for air, Harrison’s eyes twinkle, smirk fading into a smile. 

He could do this forever. Half an inch away from the love of his life, breathing in the smell of champagne and cologne and linen and his beautiful, lovely boyfriend. Harrison’s arms wrapped around his waist at 2 AM, outside a warm and friendly bar which currently houses some of the most famous people in the world, all friends of his. His heart beating out of his chest as Harrison smiles and sparkles and lights up everything he knows, even when the days grow longer and longer and he’s exhausted. Because here, now, with Harrison half an inch away, looking at him like there isn’t anything else he could want, he feels like everything is perfect.

“I love you so much,” he manages to choke out, and his boyfriend smiles and kisses him again before pulling him close. Because he does, and he always has, and he always will. Because Harrison is electric and electrifying and everything he touches he makes better, and he feels, so clearly, that Harrison made him better-makes him better, by the minute. And Tom does his best to return all that, as best he can, but he doesn’t know if he ever will. 

“I love you too,” Harrison murmurs against his neck, and Tom can hear the smile in his voice. The wind blows, and he feels the cold start to seep into him. Suddenly, he’s more tired than he’s been in a while, and he feels his legs shake a little. When did he eat last? He feels Harrison’s arms tighten a bit around his waist, but he pulls away to meet Haz’s eyes. He hates to do this, hates to break the perfect moment, but he would rather not pass out in his boyfriend’s arms. Harrison meets his eyes, smile slowly melting into a face of concern. 

“I think…” he breaks off, swallowing. He’s shivering a little, but he leans into Harrison’s warmth. Harrison stills a little, but Tom knows it’s more out of confusion than anything else. He hates to ruin the party, especially because Harrison’s night would be ruined too as he would insist to come home too. “I think I should go home now.”

“You alright love?” Harrison cups his chin in a soft palm, studying his face with worry etched all over his expressive features. He must look like shit, actually. There hasn’t been much time to sleep, let alone quell the constant worry and anxiety long enough to rest. He nods anyway, without a sound, and leans into Haz’s shoulder. 

“Just...tired.” He was tired. Tired of lying, tired of pretending, tired of hiding, but mostly just tired. He needs to sleep, needs his boyfriend. Wow, he sounds clingy and needy- no. No, Harrison would want to know if he was feeling off. Harrison had said that before when he found Tom lying on the couch, feeling ill and awful without a sound. Harrison had made it clear that Tom was to communicate, was to tell Haz if he felt like shit, like he did now. 

“Okay,” his boyfriend murmurs into his ear, holding him for a minute more. “Let’s get our things and go, yea?” He nods into his boyfriend’s chest, shaky and slow. He just need to sleep. Sleep and eat something. Maybe eat something and then sleep. 

He leans against Haz’s shoulder as they walk back into the bar, and for once, doesn’t lift his head or unthread their fingers as Harrison opens the door. He’s tired of doing things like that, because he’s just tired. The party is still in full swing, and it’s a little too loud and bright for his pounding head. Robert is there though, in the center of attention, built for this scene. He, on the other hand, would rather curl up and sleep away what’s left of the night. He feels himself tensing up, leaning closer to Harrison in his uncomfortableness and haste to leave. Harrison just squeezes his hand a little firmer with a reassuring but slightly worried smile. 

“Hey! Tom, come join us!” 

It’s Robert, sober as ever, sipping water from a fancy glass. He glances over to where Robert is beckoning. Evans, Pratt, and Scarlett Johansson are all there, giving little waves. He tries to smile, but he knows it just looks upset and tired and weak. He squeezes Harrison’s hand. He just needs to go, before he passes out. His legs are still kind of shaky. Well, a lot. He takes a deep breath again, tries to think of when he last ate. Last night? He surely had something last night...Harrison had gotten take out...and then he had gotten a call. Oh, right, so no dinner last night. And lunch? No, he had a podcast. Breakfast? Coffee. He didn’t even go back farther, two days being plenty long for not eating. 

“Um...I’m actually going to head out.” It’s simple, it’s easy. He just has to walk out, catch a cab. The hotel is ten minutes away. He can eat something or other, or whatever. Sleep. He needs sleep. Harrison is the one who leans closer to him this time, and Tom knows his boyfriend is getting concerned. He’s a little more shaky than he was a few minutes ago, can feel the tremors in his hands that he always gets when he doesn’t eat. Forgets to eat.

“The party just started dude!” It’s Mackie, and trailing behind him is Sebastian Stan. Well that’s just what he needs right now. He suppresses a sigh, instead opting to clear the black spots floating through his vision with an inhale and a blink. He’s pushing it, he knows. But he has to push it. If you don’t, you don’t get where he is right now, pressed close to his boyfriend next to the most famous people in the world. He shakes his head a little, desperate to get out. 

“Nah, I think we’re going to be on our way.” Oh, thank God for Harrison. Haz holds onto his hand, tight, knowing how Tom leans against him, small tremors wracking his exhausted body. He can see Mackie raise an amused eyebrow. 

“Sure you don’t want to stay? Brie and Mark are going to have a drinking contest!” Sebastian gestures to the two mentioned actors, both making fake fighting faces at each other before bursting into laughter. Tom would usually find this hilarious, but currently, the sides of his vision go dark. Shit. He inhales again, knows they’re looking at him to respond. He turns to his boyfriend, meeting his eyes for a moment before his legs almost give out and he leans against Haz’s shoulder, Harrison’s arms wrapped around his waist. 

“Tom? Sit down, love.” Haz whispers into his ear, cupping the back of his head with a soft hand. Black spots fly across his vision and he would really rather not pass out in front of all these people. But he’s exhausted and feeling ill and he wants to melt into Harrison’s embrace and figure out what to do with himself later. He closes his eyes and swallows as Haz pulls up a chair and he manages to sit- rather, collapse- into the chair. Everyone is watching him, he knows, but at this point, he couldn’t care less. 

He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, slumped over in the chair. His head aches. He feels Haz lay his jacket on him, and he fits his shoulders in the slots but doesn’t put his arms through. It’s a slight comfort, but he wants a kiss, wants Haz to hold him. He’s still trembling and he wishes he could stop, wishes his hands would stop their tremors. The conversation has picked up just a bit, a hushed kind of tone. They probably think he’s really drunk. He’s an emotional mess. 

“Kid?” It’s Robert again. He feels a hand on his back, forces open his tired eyes to meet Robert’s concerned ones. “Are you feeling okay?” 

He ponders his options. If he nodded, just pretended he was fine and drunk, it would be just another day of pretending. He wouldn’t hold Haz’s hand, would probably have to stick around. But if he said no, a fuss might be made, and he didn’t really want more attention. But he’s tired, the tired that makes everything hurt and the tired that makes everything seem like too much work. He’s tired of hiding things that would be easier left said. 

He shakes his head, no. He’s not okay. Where’s Haz? He looks around for a minute before Robert is right next to him again, worry amplified. Robert must see that he’s looking for Harrison. 

“Your best friend went to go hail a cab.”

He swallows. He squeezes his eyes shut and clenched his jaw and he tries to inhale but sometimes he feels like he can’t. Haz is his best friend, yes. But...but also his boyfriend. He opens his eyes to meet Robert’s, tries to be as calm as he can. His heart feels like it’s beating out of chest. He licks his dry lips and his breath catches in his throat. 

“He’s my boyfriend.”

He hates how shaky he sounds, how completely gone. But he feels...he feels good. Better. Still exhausted, still shaky, still sick and tired and he still hasn’t told anyone else. But he feels better. Robert’s eyes widen only a millimeter before a small smile spreads across his face. Suddenly, Tom feels a little ill. God, what had he done? What had he said? He hadn’t even told anyone, hadn’t even asked Haz? 

“Hey, kid.” 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying a little bit until Robert wipes away his tears with a thumb. He swallows down bile and wishes Haz would take him home. Not to a hotel, but home. Home to their house back in London, home, so he doesn’t have to work 17 hour days and not sleep and forget to eat. Home, so Haz can kiss him. 

“It’s alright.” 

He’s shaking, but now it’s due more to mental exhaustion than physical. He’s so tired of all of this, wants to leave this bar. Wants to get away from all of this, just for a while. Because while he loves it, it’s too much. Suddenly, he feels a gentler hand grip his under the table. He turns to see Harrison, glowing under the bar lights, looking perfect- worried- but perfect and gorgeous and lovely and the only thing he wants, the only thing he needs. He leans against Haz’s chest, and he feels Haz squeeze his hand and take a deep breath, and he knows to follow. To control his breathing with Harrison’s rise and fall. His boyfriend runs a hand through his hair, gentle and comforting as can be. 

“Can we go home now?” he chokes out, tears threatening to spill over. Harrison looks at him, worry etched in his features, and nods slowly. Haz wraps an arm around his waist. He tucks his face into Haz’s shoulder, and slowly he stands up. Black still threatens to take his vision. Before he can say anything his legs threaten to collapse beneath him and he holds on to the table, steadying himself. 

“Did you eat today?” Harrison asks, concern evident. Because he’s done this before, a few too many times to count. It’s not that he doesn’t want to eat, but he’s really busy sometimes, and sometimes he feels like if he can’t control his schedule or the things that happen, he can control if he eats or not. And so sometimes he doesn’t, sometimes by choice and sometimes because he truly does forget, but either way, it’s becoming common enough that Harrison notices, every time. He shakes his head a little bit. 

“Yesterday?” Harrison tries to be quiet, but the bar is louder now and he’s half a minute away from drifting into oblivion. He shakes his head. He doesn’t remember that much, but he knows that. At his wordless no, he feels Haz’s arm wrap a little more firmly around his waist. His boyfriend guides him toward the exit, and he knows some of the other actors are watching as he slowly makes his way to the door, leaning into the shoulder of the guy who is supposedly just his best friend, but he can’t bother to care. 

The wind outside is cold and he pulls his jacket tighter around him, shivering in the chill. Haz opens the door to the cab and they get in, finally out of the cold. In the back seat, he curls up against Harrison’s shoulder, trembling. Harrison presses a kiss, soft a sweet, to his forehead. 

“Sleep, love.”

So he does.

—

When he wakes up, it’s to the smell of coffee and his boyfriend. Harrison is sitting up next to him, in their king sized hotel bed. He doesn’t know how he got here or what time it is, but Harrison is here. It’s enough. He eyes Harrison’s lips before pulling his boyfriend down by the collar of his t shirt for a kiss. Harrison’s eyes glitter and twinkle in the light, hint of confusion in his smile. Harrison changed out of his suit into a perfectly suitable t shirt and joggers. His boyfriend must have left the room at some point, because there’s a cup of Starbucks coffee on the bedside table, still steaming. 

He stretches for a moment before realizing how shitty he feels. The sleep must have helped, but he feels light headed and a little sick, his stomach cramping and empty, throat dry and headache persistent. He needs to eat, he knows. He’s tired of diets and starving himself for movies, but a part of him likes it. Likes the way it makes him feel, likes the way people, even Harrison, admire his body. There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to eat, doesn’t want to give up what he’s worked towards, doesn’t want to give up the control it gives him. 

Haz is studying him, and as he ruminates, he sees Harrison’s face fall. They’ve been over this once before, a half drunk phone conversation that had done little to help Tom stop thinking about food, or rather, the lack of it. He sees Harrison swallow. A gentle hand traces his cheekbones, which are, he supposes, pretty evident these days. Harrison’s fingers trace down his jaw, down to his collarbone. The sheets rustle, and Haz continues his trail, down to his ribs. He gets halfway down Tom’s rib cage before he stops, and it takes him a minute to notice but Haz is crying, tears rolling down his face. 

“Tom…” He swallows the shame as his heart sinks. Harrison used to like his body, what happened? He had to do better. He was going to do better, he better for Harrison. He could ask for a different meal plan… he could make sure to cut out today’s dinner. Lunch was kind of a waste too, he could go without lunch for a few days...He takes his boyfriend’s hand in his own, desperate for the touch.

“Tom, babe… You have to eat.” 

Oh. Harrison is still crying, and he doesn’t know why. Haz runs his thumb over the bony structure of Tom’s hands with a shaky sigh. He’s tired of this, tired of not eating and tired of what he thinks Haz thinks. He’s too tired to keep doing this. Harrison presses a sandwich in his hand with a heartbroken but firm expression. He guesses he has no choice. It does kind of smell good...great, actually...and he can skip breakfast too….

He takes a tentative bite, chewing and swallowing like it’s something new. It tastes good. He glances at Haz, sees how his face lights up. Maybe...maybe Haz wouldn’t mind if he ate a little more. He takes another bite, but suddenly, it tastes like cardboard. Before he knows it, he’s scrambling out of bed, shaking with tremors and throwing up, head in the toilet. 

It seems like hours before the dry heaving stops. He’s covered in a cold sweat, his stomach cramping and everything hurts. His head spins, and he feels a hand card through his hair. He relaxes against the warm body behind him, lets his jaw rest on Harrison’s clavicle, breathing heavy. Harrison just murmurs soft reassurances and wipes the sweat off his forehead. He feels sick and weak and hates how Haz has to pick him up, hates how he can’t even do that on his own without his body about to collapse. 

Harrison strips of him of his clothing, long fingers unbuttoning his shirt from the night before, unfastening his jeans. The bath water runs as he sits on the edge of the tub, wrapped in a towel and Haz’s arms. Harrison helps him in, the warm water filled with bubbles, and Harrison sits on the edge of the tub. His boyfriend washes his hair, fingers getting suds through his curls. He’s never felt more like an invalid, a part of him thinks. The other part feels more cared for than he’s ever been. He likes that part better, he supposes. He closes his eyes and leans his aching head against the back of the tub, letting his body relax in the hot water. Harrison clear his throat and Tom meets his eyes.

“Can we talk about this?” Harrison’s voice isn’t wrecked with emotion, but his sincerity bleeds through his tone. He doesn’t really want to talk, not really. Plus, his throat aches from the retching. He shrugs, hating to be difficult, but unwilling. Harrison sighs. 

“Can I talk? Will you listen? I mean really, really listen.” He nods. He can listen. He can’t talk right now, but he can listen to Haz for hours. His eyes slip close and he sucks in a breath with a small nod. 

“Tom, love, you’re scaring me.”

His eyes snap open, to stare attentively at Harrison. His boyfriend actually looks frightened, and resolved and strong and Tom wonders what he’s done. How he’s scared the love of his life. 

“You’re so thin.” Harrison’s voice breaks this time, like he’s trying not to cry. “Babe, you aren’t eating and it’s scaring me.”

He feels his breath catch in his throat, but Harrison goes on.

“I know you have to work, love, and I’m so proud of you. But look at yourself, Tom! You’re shaking, because God knows you haven’t eaten in days and haven’t gotten a decent night of sleep in what? Weeks?” Harrison is almost hysterical, and Tom knows it’s all true. Ever single bit of it. He hasn’t slept in a long time, hasn’t eaten right for a while. Harrison stifles a sob and continues. 

“You’re killing yourself, and you don’t even stop! I can see your fucking ribs, Tom! I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t be able to see your ribs, or feel your bones-”

He shakes his head, he needs to get out, he can’t do this.

“Tom, listen to me- You’re not okay.” 

He feels himself shaking, even as Harrison helps him out of the tub and wraps him in a towel. They sit on the floor, himself dripping and Haz wrapped around him, both a second away from tears. 

“You aren’t alright, love, and it scares me, sometimes. Maybe one day I’ll get a call from a PA telling me you’re in the hospital, or one day I’ll find you dead in our apartment- or-”

Tom cuts him off with a squeeze of his hand. He swallows, closing his eyes. God, what has he done? He’s just...he’s just tired. And his lovely boyfriend was glowing last night in a dark alleyway, and he’s tired of that, too. Tired of having to hide, tired of having to be okay. Cause maybe he’s not. Maybe all of this...all of this life, out there in the spotlight...maybe it’s made him a little fucked up. Harrison’s arms disappear from his shoulder, and he shoots Tom a small, sad smile, before picking him up. 

He curls up against Haz’s chest as he’s put down on the bed. Harrison tosses clothes his direction, rummaging around for something. Harrison sniffles but clears his throat.

“Put those on, you git.” 

He hears the tease, manages to smile a little. It would be nice not to only do this when they’re alone. He manages to put on the sweatshirt and joggers without passing out, thank God. The sweatshirt, he notices, used to fit more snuggly. It still does now, but there’s more fabric. He’s lost weight, he realizes. A little more than he wanted to. A lot, actually. Shit. 

Before he can dwell on it, Harrison finds what he’s looking for among the luggage. It’s...a drink? It’s a bottle of liquid, but Hax holds it up like it’s gold. He sits down on the bed next to Tom and unscrews it. He takes the bottle, tries to read the font, but between his spinning head and his dyslexic brain, it’s all letters.

“It’s a meal replacement thing!” Haz sounds proud. He stares at what looks like chocolate milk. “It has like...protein and shit. I don’t think it will make you feel sick. It’s just for now- I don’t think you can handle solid food, love. Wanna try it out?”

He kind of does. He grabs the bottle with trembling hands. Apparently, it’s chocolate flavored, Harrison always knew how much he liked chocolate. He wants to take a step. To heal, to be better, to stop hiding behind lies. So he does- he takes a sip, and yeah, it kind of tastes like powder and gross things, but he swallows it. And then he drinks some more. Harrison has that same look on his face as the night before- all fond and proud. His stomach settles a little and he can feel himself getting less light headed. He manages to finish the bottle, and his fingers go slack. He really...he really did that. 

Harrison takes the bottle before if falls to the floor, and his hand just shakes, empty. Haz takes his hand, threading their fingers together, running a thumb in circles over the back of his hand. Suddenly, he feels the weight of everything of the last few weeks, of the last few hours. He leans forward, resting his head on his boyfriend’s chest. 

“Haz?” he murmurs against his boyfriend's shirt, swallowing his fear. “I’m tired of pretending.”

His boyfriend stills, silent for a moment. He looks up, pulls away, meeting Harrison’s wide eyes, shimmering with a hopefulness he wishes he could have brought earlier. He pulls himself closer. He takes in the barely-there freckles that grace Harrison’s nose and cheeks, the softness of his lips that he constantly bites, the flush of his cheeks. Haz’s breath is warm and smells like coffee. He licks his own lips , their faces an inch away, before letting himself smile. He kisses Haz, soft and gentle, like they’ve never done this before. He can’t speak for a moment, breath caught somewhere in his lungs because that’s what Haz does, makes him breathless. 

“Harrison Osterfield, I’m so fucking in love with you, and I don’t care who knows it.”

When they kiss, he feels electric again, like everything in the universe has shifted into place and left him and Haz, glowing in the midday light of Los Angeles, at the precipice of everything. Harrison has a hand resting gently on the back of his neck, the other around his waist. His own hand rests gently on the small of his boyfriend’s back. When he draws back, he leans against Haz’s chest and they lie back, holding each other. 

They stay like that for God knows how long, euphoric and happy and fine. His head still aches and there’s a sense of unbridled anxiety coursing through his veins, but he lets himself be still, eyes half open and idyllic. Eventually, he reaches over and grabs his phone from the bedside table. Harrison runs a hand through his hair lazily. Haz grabs the Advil without a word, shaking out two and handing them to him with a firm glance. He swallows them dry, small smile on his lips at Harrison’s concern. 

He opens Instagram, turning so Haz can see what he’s doing. He scrolls through their photos, selecting one they took a while ago. It was New Years Eve and they had thrown a party at their house. The photo had been taken in the early hours of the morning by some last guest, a close, close friend of theirs, who knew about their relationship. The photo was shot from the doorway as they were unaware. It pictures the two of them, standing alone in the kitchen. They had both been tipsy, and Tom had wrapped an arm around Harrison’s waist and cupped his cheek, Harrison’s hands resting on his hips. In the picture, the first rays of morning light stream through the windows, and he remembers the way it made Harrison’s eyes glimmer. 

In the photo they’re not too dressed up, Harrison in a crisp shirt and slacks, ever the model, and Tom in his nice pair of black jeans and a cozy sweater. They look angelic, in a word, eyes wide as the golden light fills the dusty room. The photo had sat, tucked away in his favorites album, for months. He glances at Harrison, makes sure this is right. Harrison looks happy, like he’s remembering that morning, but he nods. He selects it and moves on, not bothering to tag Harrison because everyone knew who he was. He hovers over the caption box, unsure. Harrison nudges him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tight. Post. 

Not thirty seconds later, the comments and likes start pouring in, but Harrison takes away his phone and puts it on the table, just out of reach. He sighs against Harrison’s neck, tired again. He’s happy and he’s tired and he probably has a butt load of issues, but Harrison is right next to him. Haz wraps an arm around him again with a contented smile. 

He falls asleep, pressed close to the love of his life, more happy than not.


End file.
